


Handsome

by metal_eye



Category: American Idol RPF, Jonas Brothers
Genre: Boys Kissing, Drug Use, M/M, Songfic, Spiked Coke, pot brownies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 03:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2493434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metal_eye/pseuds/metal_eye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-American Idol finale + Jonases, pot brownies, and spiked soda. Dump into large bowl. Stir. Fun times!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Handsome

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this years (5?) ago when my Archie-obsessed friend requested a fic about Archuleta and a Jonas Brother getting stoned and making out. 
> 
> No, really, that was the request.
> 
> How would they get stoned? Not on purpose, I thought. Then... a-HA! Pot brownies and spiked punch!
> 
> Song inspiration by the lovely Rob Dickinson. Listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hdt0mgYciEo

Joe was exhausted.    

_Follow mudslides, follow mudslides in my head…_

“Dude! Brownies!”

“Who… ?”

“Cook’s manager brought them.”

“Sweet!” Joe felt his resolve to split to the hotel dissolve. “Is there soda?”

A few solid minutes of pouring and munching yielded several stalwart truths: Kevin was equally excited about the sugar high; Nick, the conscientious diabetic, had promptly disappeared; and Joe, still a sweet tooth, still a junk junkie, couldn’t stop himself from having too much of both disasters.

_The residue may leave you handsome._

“Last one.”

It would have been a bidding war. But Kevin was gone, and David seemed to have lost all conviction, his head lolling back like a rag doll.        

“Don’t need to win this time?” Joe popped the last brownie, his victorious conviction fading.

“I don’t care about winning.” David looked pinched, dried out, like a small prune. “I just… never get any credit, musically. Not like Cook. I mean.” A touch of bitterness. “I’m just _cute._ Which is fine, but. I’m a little sick of being cute.”

“But you _are_ cute!” Joe gushed.

He thought he saw David’s face wrinkle.

“Er. … handsome, I mean.”

Thankfully, David seemed to brush off the comment. There were advantages, Joe thought, to being known for sarcasm.

_Some of them may leave you wasted._

They both experienced a stretch of silent tension often reserved for daytime dramas.

Joe said, “There was definitely something weird in those brownies.”

“Yeah. The Coke, too. My head hurts a bit.”

David was sweating. It brought his cherubic features well into the foreground.

How would they explain this to their parents?

Of course, it could always be anonymous. Completely detached from all image.    

Joe coughed. David looked up, ever bleary.

_If that is the way you feel…_

Now something was telling Joe to _touch_ everything he saw. Good God, How could feeling this good be a bad thing? He was quite sure there was a goofy, dreamy look on his face. He felt like he was full of helium.

And it wasn’t as if they were being filmed at all, except inside their own heads.

He wasn’t an idiot, of course. He knew Cook’s team were hippie washouts. Should have thought a bit more before eating and drinking so much, but at this point it didn’t seem to matter.

_Revel in your sex appeal._

There was heat, he was sure, and… oh. Hormones.

What a bitch. Teenybopper purity thrust right up against post-puberty. Like God was _trying_ to mock him. Bastard.

_The shedding of your shell…_

Casting off his created image could be easier than lying.

Though there had been no lying. Just a selective emphasis on pristine extremes.

_Follow distance, follow distance from your heart._

He had followed these thoughts a bit too far, he realized, as soon as he decided that David’s shoulder was providing as much comfort as the couch.

The shoulder was tense, but warm. A rough bit of breathing crossed Joe’s nose like a musical phrase.

He turned and saw his partner in (accidental?) crime leaning against him, mouth half-open, almost sleepily. Heart exposed.

_A part of you, a part of you is dead._

With the strange buzzing in his head, nothing felt as forbidden as it should have. Curiosity overwhelmed, the consequences distant. The critic was silenced in shame.

Joe decided it would have to be like a scene from a movie, like something in cheesy slow motion. The smile, the tilt; the tentative touch, the hesitant fondling. The lips lingering like it was a last chance. The languid exploration watched with detachment from beneath lazy eyelids.

Perfect.

_Some of it may leave you wondering._

Why hadn’t he tried this before?

Not the drugs, no, but – the buzz, the calm, the harmless (useless) G-rated kissing.

Well, maybe PG-rated.

_Revel in your new solutions…_

They were both giggling. There was something exciting about breaking so many rules at the same time.

_Morning’s new horizon at your door…_

Kevin suddenly swung around the door frame into the room, looking disoriented. Joe threw himself backwards against the couch’s right arm in alarm.

“Hey,” said Kevin, “did those brownies make you feel weird? Cause I think, I just made out with some guy I don’t know…”

David, suddenly, was nowhere to be seen.

_I’ve colored dreams… I’ve colored dreams of you._


End file.
